Pastel Virtue

Love for good is often a result of knowing the badness in ourselves. The aspiration of, in the conscious and attentive effort, is a noble cause. To lack that understanding though is to hate goodness and love, to be bitter towards it. What we lack in ourselves we search for in others, and as human beings, we are the worst of all.

Beatrice ran into the bathroom of the confectionary, the metal clasped door to the stall is swung open in a whirlwind of emotions and abruptly shut. She leans against the door, her chest heaves and she feels something coming onto her. It is as if something is engulfing her, wrapping her in a loose but suffocating grasp as water does when it drowns a victim in turbulent tides.

 A wave crashes out of her mouth and into the porcelain structure in front of her. No longer devouring her mind in mystery but now an ugly beige fluid in the fluorescent lights of the bathroom. She slides back and leans against the door. While nothing seemed to physically ail her, her well-being seemed to weaken as time passed by. Her adulthood encroached upon her like a solemn monster and it swam in the seas of her mind during the day and stared back from the trench of her bed at night. She felt isolated in her feelings, encased from the empathy of others.

The light eerily flickered, as if a reminder that her time was short, or of an omen to come. Part of her wanted to stay in the dimly lit bathroom, it differed so much from the rose colors of the storefront. It was grey like her, small and narrow, and enclosed in the same way things presented themselves to her. The stall centered on one small point on the ceiling, that small point felt like all her life could succumb to, all it would ever be. She stands up, examining her clothes. Luckily, she had nothing on them. The material was slightly ruffled, but her aim and awareness were enough to clear a landing and avoid the appearance of self-destruction. 

She walks out of the stall to find herself staring back in the mirror. A girl with long red hair and dark eyes stared back at her. They once were hazel but now had an empty gaze. She reminded herself of a husk, a body without a soul or essence. Her physical body was not as it was either, she would often lose her appetite and have to force herself to eat. The willingness of the desire had vanished months ago. She wondered if she would shrivel up into a lifeless corpse in her place of origin. Both her friends would be in another state for college and she would be in her hometown, by herself. She takes a deep breath, taking one final examination of the person across from her, the one who knew her best after all. As she emerges from the restroom, the seedy grey atmosphere blooms into a warm pink and rose gold, spotted with pastel blues, chalky greens, and soft whites.

“Bea, hey look at this!” Alison walks up to her, holding a bag of brightly colored neon worms. Excited about her find Alison begins to hold them up in an intersected shape, grinning with cheer. “Chromosomes, from bio class!” the athlete is bouncing up and down, her simple discovery was sweet but disconnected. Beatrice felt worlds away from the lively girl. She loved Alison, but simultaneously could not bear to look at her. The two had known each other since they were small children, but something had begun to distance in their friendship. The athlete was an all-American girl, a likable brunette that turned everything that happened to her into a moral lesson. Beatrice could never tell if she admired this or thought of it as a cheap shill, a coping mechanism in order to pretend she was as she presented herself. After all, Alison was only a person-angry and bitter as the rest. The chasm between the two had only grown in the past year, despite Shannon’s presence she seemed like more of a follower than a friend. She always seemed to go along with what Alison wanted and never her own will, something that eroded Beatrice’s respect for her.

As she watched them happily giggle and walk around, she felt empty. They lived in a world entirely different from hers, one bathed in roses and permanent setting suns. In her own, night had come long ago with bright discomforting sterile lights that showed up at her ugliest moments. Alison acted so securely, and Shannon was so distracted that whether she was secure in herself or not had no importance. To Beatrice, this was all an act, a lie she had come to terms with long ago and was ready to sever herself from.

“Alison, that’s great,” Beatrice can only squeeze it out as something else catches her friend's attention. 

She can feel the disgust rush upon her, she was not meant for this place, nor her friends. The thought chides in her head. She had long lost the ability to filter these thoughts out as they rushed in like unfiltered debris. No longer was there any need to care for this, something in her had long run out. These feelings were concerning at first but had ceased in urgency. No, they existed as little familiar ghosts, the ones that came in and darkened her.

“Bea!” As she blinked, she felt her friend's arms slip under her as the familiar face looked down upon her. Beatrice was looking up at Alison from the floor, her face was worried and she was beginning to tear up. Beatrice hated Alison, for everything that she was and wanted to be. The saint she saw as her consciousness faded was such a far contrast from the temperamental brat who threw tantrums over her grades and sports. She was so unbearably human that her need to maintain some kind of virtue had become sickening and pathetic. At the same time though, Beatrice loved her, she had always felt love and goodwill for her since they were children. Since they were in a nursery at church together. For seventeen years of her life, it was this way. As Beatrice faded to black, she realized something had changed, she had changed.

“Maybe in another life,” Beatrice thought to herself, “maybe in another life I would be happy like her.”